


[sweet you rock and sweet you roll]

by ephemerall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Pre-Series, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-05
Updated: 2010-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemerall/pseuds/ephemerall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The summer of 1997 crashed in too fast, the heat rolling in like a storm front, thick and cloying and unrelenting.  They drove through three states in two weeks, Sam marking off Wisconsin, Illinois and Indiana on the map he kept from school, until they finally stopped in Kentucky.  Even with all the windows rolled down and the air kicking up dust and dirt, it wasn't enough to cool anyone down; the leather seats seemed to soak up all the heat and push it back at them, making it sticky and uncomfortable to stay in the car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you loolookitty

The summer of 1997 crashed in too fast, the heat rolling in like a storm front, thick and cloying and unrelenting.  They drove through three states in two weeks, Sam marking off Wisconsin, Illinois and Indiana on the map he kept from school, until they finally stopped in Kentucky.  Even with all the windows rolled down and the air kicking up dust and dirt, it wasn’t enough to cool anyone down; the leather seats seemed to soak up all the heat and push it back at them, making it sticky and uncomfortable to stay in the car.  Even their father was grateful when the driving was done and they could remove themselves from the beloved car.

 

The summers for Winchesters were unremarkable; there were no beach trips or long vacations, never anything to brag about in the next town, in the next school Sam ended up at.  For Sam it meant brushing up on his Latin and long, unwanted PT sessions with Dad when he was around, and with Dean when the order was passed down.  For Dean it usually meant a part time job to keep him busy, and waiting for Dad’s next phone call to pack up and head out.  For their father, summer was exactly the same as every other day of the entire year: keep searching, keep saving people, keep hunting.

 

It was the argument back in Minnesota that led them to Kentucky.  It wasn’t unusual for Sam to ask to stay in one place for a period of time; in fact, it was pretty ordinary – almost an everyday request.  He just happened to ask at the wrong time, when John was in a terrible mood, and the argument got out of hand.  Dean was used to listening to them yell at each other, but he wasn’t used to Sam telling their father he hated him, and he wasn’t used to John recoiling from Sam’s angry words like he’d been slapped in the face.  Either way, their father had left for hours and Sam retreated to his room to be alone and pretend he wasn’t crying, and later when John had returned smelling like a liquor store he’d told Sam it’s probably a good idea for them to spend some time away from each other.  Sam had nodded curtly and returned to his room to pack his things.

 

So here they were at a friend of their fathers – admittedly someone that John had helped in the past and told him if he ever needed a favor to call.  The man’s name was Daniel Brown; he owned almost 15 acres of farm land and livestock to put on it.  Dean had laughed when John referred to him as Farmer Brown and Sam had rolled his eyes at his brother; it was a cycle everyone was used to.  Sam had laughed, though, when John lectured Dean about keeping his hands off of the farmer’s daughter.

 

The Brown’s house was huge.  They had an older boy – Jeremiah – that didn’t live at home anymore, and Sam and Dean would be sharing his room.  They had two boys after him, twins – David and Joshua – who shared a room, and their youngest was Katie, a year older than Sam.  They had a big kitchen and dining room where everyone sat down to eat together; the living room was just as big as the others, with a two sofas and an armchair.  Anna, their mother, was everything Sam thought a mother should be; she cared for them when they needed her to, she cooked good dinners, she laughed bright and happy like with her family was the only place she needed to be.

 

After they were all shown around, they followed their father back out to the front yard.  “I want you boys on your best behavior,” he said.  “Daniel’s doing us a favor, and I don’t want to make him sorry he did.”

 

They chorused “yessir”.

 

“Dean,” he said.  “I’m leaving the car.  I told you last year that you could have her, but I haven’t gotten around to getting something I can drive.”

 

“So what are you going to use?”

 

“I’ve got a truck waiting for me in town; David’s going to take me while you boys get situated and Daniel shows you what chores you’re going to be doing.” John said.  “You do what you’re told, understand?”

 

They both nodded.  “What kind of chores?” Sam asked, the first time he’d really said anything since they’d gotten here other than hello’s to the Brown’s and their children.

 

John shrugged.  “Whatever they need you to do.  They’re going to need help baling hay this summer since they’re a man down, probably have you help taking care of the horses; whatever they need you don’t mouth back, hear me?”

 

Sam nodded and watched as John stuck out his hand for Dean to shake, too big and manly to hug each other anymore.  John turned to Sam and put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed a moment, and then patted Sam’s cheek.  “I’ll see you in a few months, kiddo.”

 

“Thanks, Dad,” he said and watched his father’s back as he walked down the drive to where David was waiting by a blue pick-up.  He and Dean watched their father climb in and wave to them as they drove off.

 

Dean turned to Sam as they started back to the house and grabbed him by the arm.  “If I get stuck cleaning up horse shit, or cow shit or any kind of shit, I swear to God I will make you regret this entire summer, Sam.”

 

  

  1. “Grow up, Dean,” he said angrily, leaving Dean to follow him as he walked toward the house.
  



 

*  *  *

 

Anna – after insisting she didn’t need to be called Mrs. Brown – made them lunch; fresh bread and cold cuts, having told them she didn’t want to make a heavy lunch knowing they had work to go out and do.

 

“You boys ever cut fence posts, before?” Daniel asked and they both shook their heads.  “Ever had to help put a fence up?”  They shook their heads again.  “Well, I’ll give you both a quick lesson when we’re done here, and then you’ll be helping us cut the posts and put ‘em in the ground.”

 

“What is the fence for?” Sam asked, swallowing a mouthful of ham and cheese.

 

“Our dog passed, and he kept the cows in the pasture; so, since we aren’t getting another dog, we need to keep ‘em in somehow.  We’re about halfway done with cutting the posts and putting ‘em in, and then we need to get the barbed wire put in.”

 

“Won’t that hurt the cows?” Sam asked and Daniel chuckled.

 

“They got real tough skin; barbed wire is just enough of a pinch to let ‘em know they don’t want to go pushing at it,” Daniel answered.  Sam nodded and Dean just watched.  “I’ll get the go-devil while you boys finish up.”

 

“What’s a go-devil?” Dean asked; anything with “devil” in it made Dean question it.

 

“It’s smaller than an axe, but bigger than a hatchet.  We use it to cut the fence posts.  It’s a little heavy if you don’t have a lot of upper body strength, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

 

It turned out Dean didn’t have a whole lot of trouble with the go-devil, but Sam had a little trouble controlling his swing.  Joshua helped him by showing him how to hold the handle and where to put his hands to get better control of where the head would land.  Sam hadn’t thought it would be too hard, but by the time he was done cutting his arms were sore and shaky.  They spent the rest of the late afternoon into early evening getting the posts in the ground while Katie chased the cows into their night-time enclosure.

 

It was almost seven by the time Anna called them all in for dinner.  She sent all the boys to wash up while she got everything to the table.

 

Sam stood in the doorway of the washroom, waiting for his turn at the sink.  His arms and shoulders ached and he had dirt all over himself; he really didn’t even care about dinner, he just wanted to fall face first into his bed.  He leaned his head against the doorframe and closed his eyes; he jumped when Dean’s hand landed on the back of his neck.

 

“Tired, kiddo?” He asked and Sam nodded.  He rubbed the back of Sam’s neck, and then used both hands to rub at Sam’s shoulders; Sam groaned.  “Sore?” Sam nodded again.

 

Dean’s hands could be miracle workers, sometimes; Dean could beat the hell out of the best of them and disassemble and put a gun back together in record time, but his hands worked wonders on sore muscles – Sam knew that from experience.  Dean kneaded the overworked muscles in Sam’s neck and shoulders, raising the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck and his arms.  Sam wasn’t sure how long Dean stood there massaging Sam’s muscles, but it made them both get moving when a soft moan slipped out of Sam’s mouth.

 

Dean’s hand was warm on the back of Sam’s neck for a moment and squeezed gently before he pulled back and gave Sam a slight push forward.  “Come on, our turn to wash up.”

 

They washed up and ate dinner, heading up to their room before 9pm.  Dean was starting to feel sore, too, by then, wincing when he pulled his shirt over his head.  They were given a hamper to put their dirty clothes in so Dean tossed it in that general direction, not really paying attention to if it went into the hamper or not.

 

“You’re such a slob,” Sam complained, moving to pick up Dean’s dirty shirt and put it where it belonged.  Sam dropped his shirt in along with Dean’s.  Dean noticed the color Sam had gotten in the sun today and the way muscles were starting to fill out a little of Sam’s back; there was less skin and bone and more substance than there was last year, but the kid was still damn skinny.

 

“Maybe working here this summer will do you good,” Dean said, tossing his dirty jeans at Sam, too.  “You lost all that baby fat and got nothing but skin and bones in its place; you can put some muscles on this summer and be a little less of a pussy.”

 

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam replied, scowling as he wrestled his jeans off and tossed them in the hamper with Dean’s.  Now in just his boxers, Dean could see where the muscles would form on Sam’s stomach, where the faint line of hair started at his navel and traveled beneath his shorts.  He watched Sam make his way to his bed and climb in.  “Night, Dean,” he said and Dean responded in much the Sam manner, climbing into his own bed, resolutely not thinking about Sam in his underwear.

 

*  *  *

 

Their chores ended up being a lot of what their father had listed; Sam often helped Katie and Anna with the horses, and Dean usually helped with baling hay.  None of it was easy work, and both Dean and Sam knew that this was how their father was going to show them that being away from their “jobs” for the summer wouldn’t be all it was cut out to be; Dean also knew that it was more of a lesson for Sam than for him, and took out his frustration on Sam most times.

 

“Figures you’d do all the bitch work,” Dean said angrily, shoving Sam out of the way of the spigot to get his hands into the cool water.

 

“What the hell, Dean?”

 

“You complained about having a summer, and you’re the one who wanted to stay put,” Dean replied and then wiped his face with his wet hands and ran them over his hair.  He looked back at Sam.  “This ain’t exactly my idea of fun, Sam.  I would have been fine hunting for the summer.”

 

“Whatever, Dean,” Sam replied angrily, shoving his way back in to the flow of water.

 

Before Dean could say anything, the boys and Katie asked them to come along to the creek at the back of their property to swim.  They both agreed and followed.  “The only reason you’re pissed off is because Dad cockblocked you for the summer,” Sam said to Dean’s back.

 

“And the only reason we’re here in the first place is because you’re a giant freak,” Dean replied.  “God, Sam, sometimes I just want to leave you some place.”

 

Dean hadn’t expected the response he got, which was Sam shoving him hard enough to make him stumble and the tears standing bright in Sam’s eyes.  He was trying to piss Sam off, not hurt his feelings, and he’d apparently done both.  Sam pushed past him to catch up with Katie and David, Josh too far ahead unless he started to run.

 

“Sammy,” Dean said, ready to apologize, but Sam refused to acknowledge him.

 

*  *  *

 

The beginning of July rolled in with a thunderstorm and then terrible heat.  The right side of the barn needed replacing, and it was all men on deck to take down the old wood and put up the new stuff.  Everyone’s shirts were piled in the grass while they worked, the midday sun high and unforgiving, and the heat index just seemed to keep climbing.  Dean wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced over at Sam; a month’s worth of hard work and the change in Sam was visible.  His arms and chest were filled out more, more muscular, and his shoulders seemed to have broadened.  His hipbones still stood out but not in such sharp relief anymore.

 

Sam volunteered to climb up the ladder and get onto the support for the hay loft to hold onto the two-by-four David and Joshua were pushing up into place.  Sam was growing, but still smaller than the rest of them, so it would be easiest for him regardless of whether or not he had wanted to do it.

 

“Sam, pull up,” Joshua shouted, pushing the plank of wood up higher.  Sam started to pull, but didn’t have the right footing; he needed to take a step back if he was going to pull the board up – problem was he didn’t have the space he thought he did.  Daniel and Dean called out to him at the same time.

 

Sam had enough time to curse and turn so he didn’t fall on his back; even with the hay all over the barn floor the sound when he hit the ground was loud enough.  All four of the men crowded around him, asking if he was ok, and Dean dropped down on his knees next to him.

 

Sam was a little dazed, more than a little shocked that he fell, but pretty much ok.  His head and neck hurt, but the sharpest pain was in his right wrist.  He nodded when Dean asked him if he was alright.

 

“I think I broke my wrist,” Sam said, pushing himself up with his left arm and pulling his right arm into his lap and cradling it.

 

“Lemme see,” Daniel said, kneeling down next to Dean.  Sam held out his right arm; the bones of his wrist were jutting out in sharp contrast, looking as if they might break through the skin any second.  “Damn kid, you did a good job.”

 

“Don’t touch it,” Sam shouted when Daniel went to inspect it.  “If you move it I swear to God I’m going to puke.”

 

Daniel nodded and Dean slid his arms under Sam’s armpits and helped him stand, Sam leaning heavily against Dean for support.  “Did you hit your head?” Dean asked him.

 

“Yeah, but not really hard,” Sam answered, holding his injured wrist close to his body so no one touched it, so it wouldn’t get accidentally jarred.

 

“Looks like we’re taking a trip to the Emergency Room,” Daniel said, putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder.  He nodded to Joshua and David, “Tell your mother what happened and I’ll call her once we get there.”

 

*  *  *

 

It was dark by the time the returned from the hospital, Sam’s arm in a cast up to his bicep, keeping his arm at pretty much a ninety degree angle.  He’d been given painkillers at the hospital and they filled a prescription at the hospital pharmacy for ten days worth of medication.  Anna met them in the living room, hugging Sam like he was part of her family.

 

“Are you ok, honey?” She asked him and he nodded.

 

“Really tired,” he told her, leaning against her and closing his eyes.

 

“They gave him Vicodin for pain,” Dean explained.  “Come on, kiddo; let’s get you up to bed.”  He pulled Sam from Anna and let Sam lean against him instead, guiding him towards the stairs.  “Night,” he called over his shoulder to Anna and Daniel, and they said good night in return.

 

Inside their room, Dean sat Sam down on his bed and untied his sneakers and got them off; Sam was struggling to get his shirt off and Dean chuckled because it was kind of pathetic to see Sam trying so damn hard to get his tee-shirt over his head.

 

“Hang on,” Dean told him quietly, “I’ll help you.”  He helped Sam get his good arm out, and pulled the shirt over Sam’s head, and then pulled it down over Sam’s injured arm.  Dean’s hands were both soft and rough against Sam’s skin, and they were so, so warm.

 

“How do I get my pants off?” Sam asked him.

 

“I’ll help you with that, too.  Stand up,” Dean instructed.

 

Sam used Dean to keep himself steady as he stood, placing his hands on Dean’s shoulders as Dean unbuttoned Sam’s jeans and slid the zipper down; Sam had to work hard to keep his breathing normal as blood moved from every other part of his body and down to his dick.  From this angle Sam noticed that Dean’s shoulders were tanned and his freckles stood out from all the sun, and Dean’s skin was so much softer than he thought it would be.  He moved his fingers in soft arcs over Dean’s skin.

 

“Sit,” Dean told him, trying not to think about the way Sam’s hands felt on his skin, and pushed Sam down onto the bed and began pulling Sam’s jeans off of his legs, and then tossed them on the floor. Dean was kneeling down in front of him, hands on Sam’s legs, soft hairs tickling against Dean’s palms, and Sam was well aware of the hard-on pointing in Dean’s direction.  “Uh, Sam?”  Dean wasn’t sure if he should pull his hands off of Sam like he was on fire, or calmly retreat like he wasn’t thinking about shoving his face in Sam’s crotch to see what he would smell like, feel like, taste like.

 

“Shut up,” Sam murmured, flopping back onto the bed and covering his eyes with his good arm.  “S’your fault,” Sam says, muffled almost completely by his arm, but Dean could still make it out.

 

“Just… get yourself under your covers,” Dean told him, carefully pulling his hands off of Sam’s legs and backing away from Sam’s dick straining his boxers.  “I’m going to the bathroom and then I’ll be back for bed, alright?”  Sam hummed in response, adjusting himself with his good hand, and Dean tried not to think about the way his palms itched or the way his mouth watered.

 

In the bathroom Dean locked the door and went over to the sink; he turned on the cold water and splashed it on his face, hoping it would distract him enough to make his boner go away.  The truth of it was, he was going to sit here with his back to the door and jerk off thinking about the fact that he gave Sam wood, and then he was going to go back to the room he shared with Sam and go to sleep with Sam less than ten feet away.

 

*  *  *

 

Everyone knew it was Sam’s injury that made Anna feel that everyone deserved a break and suggested a day off and a day out.  Sam was actually surprised that they were going to have a real, actual picnic.  He helped Anna and Katie make sandwiches and pack the coolers, and he watched from the window as Dean helped load the truck.  The last couple of months had changed Dean; he was a lot less obnoxious and he smiled a hell of a lot more than Sam ever remembered.  His shoulders sported a darker tan than he’d ever had and the freckles across his cheeks and nose were more noticeable.

 

“Are you guys really related?” Katie asked, standing next to him at the window and leaning over to look out.  She wasn’t the kind of busty girl Dean went for; she had small, tight breasts under her tank-top, and unless she was working outside she often went without a bra.  Sam tried most times not to stare, and other times he’d make an awkward bathroom trip trying to hide a boner as he ran up the stairs.

 

“Yeah.  Why would you ask that?” Sam asked in return.  She smiled, then, at him and then out the window.

 

“You two sure look at each other an awful lot,” she said.  “I thought maybe you were his boyfriend and your Dad was afraid we were some kind of homophobic hicks that would kill you both if he told us.”

 

Sam honestly choked and then gaped at her.  “Why… Why would you think that?!”

 

She shrugged.  “Sometimes, when you’re not paying attention, he just…watches you.  I don’t know, I guess I thought he wasn’t your brother because my brother’s sure don’t look at each other like that, and they don’t look at me like that,” she added before he could say anything about her brothers not liking boys.

 

“Dean’s not gay,” was the first thing that came to Sam’s mind, so he said it.

 

“You look at him, too, you know.  I’ve seen you do it,” she replied.

 

“I’m not gay, either, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Sam said, looking back out the window to make sure the guys weren’t anywhere near enough to hear their conversation.

 

“Gay and straight has nothing to do with it,” she replied.  She looked out at Dean and her family for a few moments and then shook her head.  “I won’t tell anybody,” she finally said.

 

“There’s nothing to tell,” Sam protested.  “Dean and I are brothers.”

 

“Which is exactly why I won’t tell anybody,” she said and smiled.

 

He wasn’t sure what to think when she headed back to the kitchen and left him sitting at the window staring after her.  He almost laughed out loud when he wondered if he should be researching her for some kind of psychic ability, and it wasn’t really all that funny when he looked back out the window to catch Dean watching him.  Dean turned away like it was nothing, but Sam felt his heart stutter in his chest.  Katie wasn’t psychic, she was just observant, and suddenly Sam was terrified that everyone in her family could see the way he looked at Dean, that they could see right through him and could somehow know exactly what he thought about Dean sometimes.

 

“You okay, Sam?” Anna asked, startling him.  “Sorry,” she said and smiled.

 

“Oh, um, yeah; my arm is just a little sore.  I was thinking maybe you guys should go without me; I don’t want to ruin anyone’s fun.”

 

“Don’t be silly,” she said, pushing his hair away from his face.  “You’re not going to ruin anyone’s fun. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to do a whole lot for yourself if you were here alone, would you?”  She smiled warmly at and he smiled back because her smile was contagious.

 

“I guess not,” he said, raising his arm slightly for emphasis.  She patted his shoulder and headed outside as Dean came in.

 

“Hey,” he said.  “Dad called me back.  He wants me to teach you how to shoot left handed.”

 

“What?  Why?  I’m not going to be in a cast for the rest of my life.  I’m not even going to be in a cast anymore by the time he picks us up, so what’s the point?”

 

Dean raises his hands in mock-surrender.  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.  His orders, man, not mine.  On this one, you got my vote, but he said to do it anyway because it was time you learn how.”

 

“This is crap,” Sam said sullenly.  “I thought we weren’t supposed to have to do any of that crap for the summer, wasn’t that the point?”

 

“I think the point was to get you and Dad away from each other,” Dean answered honestly.  “Anyway, Daniel let me set up some targets behind the barn and gave us the go-ahead, but don’t worry about it for now; we’ll work on it tomorrow.”

 

Sam nodded, not willing to argue the logic of it, and let Dean lead him outside.


	2. Part II

It was a Thursday afternoon when another storm front rolled in.  For days the air had been heavy and thick, almost syrupy in the way it felt like it clung to your skin.  The sky opened up and let loose some time after lunch, cancelling all afternoon chores in favor of playing rummy at the dining room table.  After a lot of protests, Sam went upstairs with the claim that he didn’t feel good.

 

When Dean finished his hand he opted out of another round in favor of checking on his little brother.  The thunder was loud, clamoring above them and rattling windows; the lightning was bright and sharp, sure to take out the electricity in a matter of time.  Dean opened the door to their room quietly, not wanting bother Sam if he’d fallen asleep, but what he found was something entirely different.

 

He was frozen there near the end of Sam’s bed.  Sam was lying on his back, jeans and boxers shoved down around his calves, his dick hard and angry-red straining up toward his navel.  He was panting in harsh gasps, forehead sticky with sweat and his face maybe wet with tears; Dean couldn’t tell from where he was standing.

 

“Sammy?” Dean said softly.

 

“I can’t,” Sam replied, his voice wrecked and hoarse.  “God, it _hurts _and I can’t… I need to come, Dean.”

 

“Shh,” Dean soothed.  “It’s… its ok.  I can… I’ll help you.”

 

His legs felt like they were made of concrete as he moved around Sam’s bed and sat down near Sam’s left, facing Sam so Dean could use his right hand.  “Please,” Sam whispered.  “Please, Dean, I need to.”

 

“It’s ok,” Dean soothed again.  “It’s ok, Sammy; I’ve got you.”

 

Dean knew what he liked, but he had no idea what Sam liked; he’d be going on blind faith that he and Sam liked similar things.  So he licked his palm before taking Sam in his right hand, a slow, inexorable slide from the base of Sam’s dick to the head, and back down; Sam groaned, soft and hurt, breath whooshing out of him like a punch.  Dean set up a steady rhythm – not too fast and not too slow – pushing his thumb up over the ridge of the head on his way up, and sliding it through the slit on his way down.  Sam’s cheeks were flushed bright with arousal and Dean felt the same heat start up in his own face, felt the press of his zipper against his dick as it stood up and took interest.  Truth was, though, Dean couldn’t blame it all on his dick or not getting laid; the truth was _he _was interested in the way Sam’s cock looked slipping through his fist, and the way Sam pushed his hips up seeking more friction, and the way Sam said his name.

 

“God, _Dean_,” Sam whispered and bit down on his bottom lip.  Dean licked his own lips in response, not entirely aware he’d done it.  “Harder.”

 

Dean listened, sped up his strokes and squeezed harder, wondering if it was bordering on pain and if Sam liked that.  God, when he’d walked in here and seen Sam… hell, the kid was so hard he could understand why it hurt, and he knew from experience that beating off with your left hand is more than a little difficult when you’re used to doing it with your right.  Part of him wanted to test the left-hand theory, wanted to get his jeans open and jerk off with his other hand right here with Sam, right there while his right hand slip-slid on Sam’s cock.

 

Sam gasped and pushed his hips up, fingers suddenly digging into Dean’s thigh.  “Oh God, Dean… ‘m gonna come.”

 

It wasn’t a lie.  Dean felt Sam’s dick grow impossibly harder in his grip, watched as all the breath went out of Sam and his dick pulsed.  He came and came, like it was the first and last time he’d ever get to; pearly white strands streaked Sam’s stomach, some of it sliding down over Dean’s fist.  He eased his strokes, letting Sam come down, letting him soften some before letting go completely.  Sam opened his eyes slowly, the look and feeling between them heady and thick; Sam looked down at Dean’s crotch, at the bulge of his dick so clearly outlined in his jeans.

 

“Dean…” Sam said softly.

 

“It’s ok,” Dean said, shaking his head. “Its fine, Sammy.”

 

“I could – “

 

Dean didn’t let Sam finish, didn’t even want to think about what Sam was going to suggest – not because he didn’t want to know, but because he was dangerously close to coming in his pants and if he let Sam finish what he was going to say Dean was afraid he actually _would _come in his pants.  So he shook his head.  “It’s ok; I got it.”

 

He patted Sam’s thigh awkwardly, but tenderly, giving a small squeeze before pulling away completely and heading for the bathroom.  Sam called after him but he kept moving, and didn’t stop his legs until he was in the bathroom with the door locked and his body pressed back against it.  He fought with the button and zipper on his jeans and pulled himself free with shaky hands.  He jerked off right there, thinking about the way it felt to have Sam’s dick in his hand, the way it felt to know that he was the one who made Sam come.  It didn’t last more than a few minutes and he bit his lip to strangle the way he wanted to call out Sam’s name when he came.

 

*  *  *

 

Sam had hoped Dean had forgotten about teaching him to shoot left-handed, but Dean came to him over the weekend, right after Sam had gone in for a follow-up and had a shorter cast put on – only up to his forearm this time – and was told he had another three weeks before he could have the cast completely taken off.

 

Dean found him in the stables, patting Elsa, a large brown mare. Sam had taken to her almost as soon as he started working with the horses, and she had taken to him almost as quickly.  Before he’d broken his wrist Dean had seen him out riding with Katie, and he seemed to be as comfortable riding Elsa as Elsa was having him.  Dean felt a little guilty pulling Sam away, but he had his orders from their father and if he didn’t follow them they’d both be in trouble when this summer was over.

 

“Hey,” Dean said quietly, more not to startle the horse than not to startle Sam.  Sam looked up at him and smiled, and then went back to petting Elsa.  “I hate to do this, but we have to go practice shooting.”

 

Sam nodded but didn’t put up a whole lot of an argument, and followed Dean out of the stables and around to the back of the barn.  He waited until then to say what he had been thinking.

 

“You know this is stupid, right?” Sam said holding the gun carefully between the fingers of his right and loading the clip with his left.  Dean took it from him to load it properly, and to make sure Sam didn’t drop it and accidentally shoot himself.

 

“Dad wants you to learn.  If something happened and you hurt your right hand on a case and needed to defend yourself, if you don’t know how to shoot left handed you could get yourself – or someone else – killed.”

 

Sam shook his head and stared out at the yard where the boys were tossing a football back and forth, and Anna and Daniel were sitting close together watching them.  “I’m not going to hunt monsters for the rest of my life, Dean, so this is pointless.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Dean said, handing Sam the gun and clicking the safety off.  “This is our job, Sam; what else would you be doing?”

 

“Dean, I’m not staying forever,” Sam said.  “You had to know that.  I want to actually do something with my life and not follow Dad’s orders; get a real job and, I don’t know.  Get out of this crap.”

 

Dean looked at him like he was speaking a foreign language.  “So, what, you graduate high school and take off?”

 

Sam aimed at the cans lined up and fired his left-handed shot; it went wide and too high.  “Yeah, I guess so,” he answered.

 

“That’s one of the dumbest things you’ve ever said,” Dean replied as Sam took another shot – too high and too far to the left.

 

“Sorry I don’t want to commit credit card fraud and lie to people for the rest of my life,” Sam said, rolling his eyes and taking another shot; he hit the ground this time.

 

“Try actually hitting a target,” Dean said dryly.

 

“Shut up,” Sam shot back.  “I’m sure you hit every target the first time you shot left-handed, right?”

 

“No, but I at least hit one,” Dean replied.

 

“Screw you, Dean.”  Sam aimed again – and missed, again.  He was getting visibly frustrated.

 

“Here,” Dean said coming up behind him.  He put his left hand over Sam’s and raised their arms together.  “Sight your target like you normally would, okay?” Sam nodded.  “Aim a little to the left if your shots are going wide to the right,” and he adjusted their arms a little to the left.  “And I’m slightly down if they’re going high,” he said and tilted their aim down just a fraction.  Sam nodded because his mouth was too dry to speak; Dean’s body was warm and hard against his back and it was all he could really think about. He almost choked when Dean’s right hand came down on his hip to hold his body steady.  “Hold’er steady,” Dean said quietly, mouth right next to Sam’s ear, his breath hot and moist.  His trigger-finger squeezed over Sam’s.

 

The can flew off the board it was set on in a perfect arc.  Sam could care less about target practice but when he turned his head to look up and back at Dean he had to grin because Dean was smiling at him, wide and proud.  And they were still pressed close, gun pointed at the ground now, fingers off the trigger, and Dean’s hand still warm through Sam’s clothes on his hip.  He watched Dean’s smile falter, and then he stopped thinking and leaned up to press his mouth to Dean’s.  It was nothing but a dry press of lips for about 15 seconds, and Sam thought Dean was going to shove him away, and then Dean’s mouth opened under his.

 

Dean tasted like old coffee and the mint gum he’d been chewing just an hour before, an odd mixture, and it still made Sam’s dick stir.  Dean pushed his tongue into Sam’s mouth easily, a little too slowly, and it was perfect for a few seconds.  He pulled back, eyes closed, and pressed his sweaty forehead to Sam’s.

 

“Sammy…” he said quietly.  “What are we doing?”

 

“I don’t know,” Sam answered honestly, wanting to keep kissing Dean.

 

Dean pulled away then, separating Sam’s body from his.  His cheeks were flushed and so were Sam’s and it had nothing to do with the midday heat.  “Dean?”

 

“We should get some lunch,” Dean said, turning his back to Sam and heading in the direction of the house, leaving Sam standing behind the barn half-hard in his jeans and wishing they had ten more seconds alone.

 

*  *  *

 

 

At night they slept with the windows open, a line of salt under the paint, and crickets singing loudly underneath the sill.  As Winchesters they were taught never to sleep heavy – it could be the difference between life and death one day – and even here they slept light.

 

Dean could hear Sam rustling around in his bed, tossing back and forth trying to get comfortable; it went on for maybe ten minutes or so before Sam was quiet and still and Dean finally started to drift off.  He started when he felt the covers draw back on his bed and rolled onto his back to see Sam climbing underneath.  “Sammy?”

 

Sam leaned over and pressed his mouth to Dean’s; the moon was bright enough that Dean could see Sam’s eyes, to let Dean know that Sam wasn’t sleep walking or dreaming – and neither was he. Sam pulled back and drew the sheet up over both of them.  “Dean,” he whispered.  “Please, Dean, just…”

 

Dean understood when Sam rolled his hips, his erection sliding against Dean’s hip.  Dean breathed deep and stared at the ceiling, feeling arousal start to stir in his belly and warm him up.  He knew this wasn’t just helping Sam because he didn’t have his right hand; he knew this was something entirely different, and somehow, he still pressed in close as he turned on his side.  He and Sam looked at each other for a pair of moments before Dean leaned in and kissed Sam, closing his eyes as Sam did.  It was warm and wet and a little sour from sleep.  Sam’s lips were soft and insistent, his tongue chasing Dean’s back into his own mouth.

 

Sam’s left hand drifted down toward the hem of Dean’s tee-shirt and slipped underneath, Sam’s fingers warm against Dean’s belly, Dean’s body growing warmer still at Sam’s touch.  This was crazy, but it was obvious something they wanted – maybe even something they needed.  Dean gasped into Sam’s mouth when Sam slid his hand into Dean’s boxers, palming his dick and rubbing softly.

 

“Wanna touch you,” Sam murmured against Dean’s lips.  “Please let me touch you.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean whispered.  “Yeah, Sammy.”  He rolled onto his back again and Sam wrapped his fingers around Dean’s dick and started to pull, slow easy strokes that made Dean open his mouth and tip his head back, eyes closed.  Sam’s hands were softer than his, less years working with guns and knives to roughen them up, but Sam’s hand on his dick was sure.

 

Dean was trying so hard not moan, not to make noise, not to give anyone the chance to walk in here and ruin this, but he couldn’t stop the soft noises coming out of his mouth.  Thankfully Sam was smart enough to crash his mouth into Dean’s and swallow down the noises he made, pushing his hips into Dean, trying to get friction any way he could.

 

“Come’ere,” Dean whispered against his lips, pulling Sam on top of him.  “Take these off,” he said, pushing at Sam’s boxers, and Sam nodded eagerly, putting his weight on his good arm and shoving his boxers down with his bad one; he kicked them off and let them get lost under the sheet.

 

“You too,” Sam said softly, pressing his mouth to Dean’s neck and letting all his weight rest on Dean as he used both hands to shove at Dean’s boxers, too.  Between the both of them they got Dean’s shorts off quickly.  “God, Dean… I want…” Sam trailed off, biting at the skin behind Dean’s ear and making Dean curse softly.

 

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said, getting his hands into Sam’s hair and pulling Sam’s mouth back to his own.  It was like they stepped out of time, lying naked together and kissing, and kissing and kissing, until it was too much.  Dean tore his mouth away from Sam’s gasping for air, and gripped Sam’s hips hard enough to leave marks.  “Like this,” he directed, pulling Sam’s hips down as he pushed up.  Sam made soft, hurt little noises, his forehead pressed to Dean’s and his eyes squeezed shut.

 

“I can’t… I tried not to, Dean,” Sam whispered, fingers gripping hard at Dean’s shoulder.  “But I can’t help it; want you so much.”  There was something in Sam’s voice that let Dean know everything he was saying was truth.  “For so long, Dean; wanted you for so long.”

 

“Shh,” Dean soothed, flexing his fingers now against Sam’s ass, pulling and pushing harder, getting them closer to orgasm.  “It’s ok,” he lied.  It wasn’t ok and they both knew it; this was so far from ok that ok was a faraway, different galaxy from where they were now.  Every part of Dean was screaming that this was wrong, and it was, but he didn’t know how to stop.  Everything about his life had always been Sam – his entire life _was _Sam – and even though this was something entirely not-brotherly, he wanted it, and God help them, Sam wanted it, too.

 

“So close,” Sam whispered, crashing through Dean’s train of thoughts.  “Dean…”

 

Sam humped against him harder, quicker, and it was only a few seconds before he was whimpering into Dean’s neck, his short nails digging into Dean’s shoulders; Sam’s body tensed and shook, his dick pulsing hot and wet against Dean’s.  There was a crazy moment that Dean wanted to laugh, wanted to ask Sam if he ever jerked off, because guys who beat it once in a while just don’t come that much, but he stopped thinking about Sam’s pent up sexual drive when he felt his orgasm washing up through him.

 

“Shit, Sammy,” he whispered and bit down – too hard – on Sam’s shoulder to muffle his own cry.  His orgasm hit him like a freight train, crashing through him with an intensity he didn’t know it could have – it made his gut twist with sick and frightening guilt that he was only coming so hard because Sam caused it.  He pulsed thick and wet between their bellies.

 

Sam was heavy and too warm on top of him, their come stick between them, and Dean was more than a little shaky.  The big brother in him was letting him know he should never have let this happen, and God help him, he  knew that he’d keep letting it happen for as long as Sam wanted it to.  He was so gone for Sam that it was scary, because there was nothing he wouldn’t do for or with Sam, and now that this had started… he knew – they both knew – it wasn’t going to stop.  They couldn’t let it.

 

“Roll off,” Dean said quietly, patting Sam’s hip, and Sam rolled to the side and onto his back, half off the bed because it simply wasn’t big enough for the two of them.  They laid there for more than a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, come cooling and drying on their bellies.

 

Finally, Sam looked at Dean.  “Are we… I mean, are we ok, Dean?” His voice was soft, scared even, and Dean understood why.

 

Dean sighed.  “There is nothing in the world that could make this ok, Sam,” Dean said softly.  “But, God, I can’t take it back – I don’t want to take it back, Sam.”

 

“You don’t?” Sam asked hopefully.

 

“We are going to nine kinds of Hell, but no, I don’t want to take it back,” Dean replied.

 

He looked at Sam and Sam smiled.  “I thought you were going to freak out and push me away,” Sam said honestly.

 

“I thought about it,” Dean said.  “Seriously, I did.  But what’s the point?  It’s always going to come back to this.”

 

Sam nodded.  “You know, I was serious when I wanted this for a long time,” Sam said softly.  “I’ve spent the last, I don’t know, three years convincing myself I was disgusting, that there was something seriously wrong with me because people don’t think about their brother’s like that – people don’t want their brothers like that.”

 

“Yeah well,” Dean shrugged with one shoulder.  “We aren’t exactly the Walton’s, Sam.”

 

“Dean… I need to know that you’re not doing this just because I want it,” Sam said, staring at Dean’s shoulder instead of his face.

 

“Sam, I love pussy,” he said, and Sam huffed a quick laugh.  “I’ve never thought about another guy let alone wanted to _do _another guy.” Dean was quiet for a long time, long enough that Sam started to wonder if Dean really was just humoring him with this.  “But I’ve spent more time jerking off thinking about you than I have about any chick, ok?”

 

Dean’s cheeks were flushed, and not just from sex; Dean wasn’t a sharer, he just wasn’t built that way, but him being honest and open with Sam in this moment was all the answer Sam needed.  Sam nodded.

 

“Yeah,” he said softly.  “Okay.”

 

They clean up quietly and sleep in their own beds, but there is a tug between them, a magnetic pull that’s never going to be gone.

 

*  *  *

 

John came back for them on a breezy Sunday morning in late August.  They were different somehow; Sam’s shoulders were broader and Dean’s smile was real.  A summer away had done them all some good, but it was time to get back to their real lives.

 

“Hey boys,” John said and smiled.

 

Sam ducked his head and Dean hiked his bag up higher on his shoulder.  “Hey Dad,” they both said.

 

“Got a long drive ahead of us,” John told them and tapped his fingers against the side of his truck.  “We should get going.”

 

“Yessir,” Dean said, nodding and heading around to the driver’s side of the Impala.

 

“Hey Sammy?” John called as he opened his door.  “Why don’t you ride with Dean?”

 

Sam grinned and nodded.  “Yessir,” he said and sprinted to the Impala.

 

It was the first time he road shotgun next to Dean, and they didn’t stop smiling for miles.


End file.
